


Fading Into Black

by Hannipenguin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tearjerker, Very short ficlet, alternate universe where Hannibal and Will grow old, geriatric hannigram, what happens when Hannibal starts to lose his memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannipenguin/pseuds/Hannipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will grow old together and one day Hannibal started losing his memory</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Into Black

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a ficlet initially posted in tumblr in response to a story about Will and Hannibal growing old post TWOTL. Basically a rather sad and short story about Hannibal and dementia. Sorry.

The first time they admitted anything was wrong was when Hannibal burned the flan, a recipe he had made a hundred times in the decades they were living together and could do with his eyes closed. It had been happening slowly more and more often. Burnt meals, forgotten errands, missing keys. But they had always laughed it off, putting it up to advancing age. Why not, Hannibal was almost ninety. A hale and healthy ninety but no spring chicken. Will was the one with all the health problems, with his shoulder and his aching joints. After the flan incident they finally went to the doctors. Will sat with Hannibal, having an uncomfortable but almost nostalgic flashback when they brought out the clock test. They shared a look and Hannibal gave him a wink and for a moment Will could almost believe everything will be alright.

The doctors did not tell them anything they did not suspect. Alzheimer’s was a pretty common disease after all and at first it didn’t sound scary. It wasn’t cancer or encephalitis. They were determined to overcome it. They read up on all the research, tried the medications, contacted some of the more prominent psychogeriatricians that Hannibal knew from his psychiatric days.

The year passed, slowly at times and frighteningly fast in others. Every sacrifice they made seemed unimportant at the time until it wore down to a life completely different from the one they built. By this time there were no more dogs, or trips to art galleries or home cooked meals. Taking care of Hannibal becomes Will’s full time job. He could deal with the sleepless nights, the irritability, the childish demands. But what wore him down the most was the apathy. Often he would find Hannibal sitting in his chair, staring into space, his clever fingers silent now. The same hands that drew, made exquisite music and cuisine, that touched Will with burning love and brought death to so many, turned inwards like claws. Will was losing Hannibal, not in violent shattering of a teacup, but a chipping away of the porcelain so there were not even pieces left to be gathered together.

One night, Will woke to Hannibal trying to choke him. The persecutory delusions were getting more frequent, especially at night. Nightmares of foes now long dead, more real to Hannibal than any haunts that had plagued Will’s empathy. After Will had calmed him, gathering Hannibal in his arms, rocking him gently on the floor of their bedroom, Hannibal had whispered “I’m sorry”.

“No, never be sorry,” Will said, pressing his lips to the soft white head burrowed to his chest, “every second after that cliff had been a bonus. We couldn’t have asked for more”

The next morning when the pale dawn broke over their house, Will pushed Hannibal out onto the garden and down the rocky path. Will had to stop several times, panting and struggling with the wheelchair, his shoulder and knee burning before they came to the cliff. He sank down next to the chair and they watched the sun rose in blood red over the rolling Atlantic.

It was Hannibal who stood first, slightly unsteady but his hand still strong, helping Will to his feet. But it was Will who led them to the edge and looked down into the grey waters. He looked back at Hannibal’s face and it was the man who he had loved for the last half century looking back at him. Hannibal’s grip was strong as he whispered, “It Was beautiful”

They did not jump. They flew.


End file.
